


Various Drabbles

by Lucreace



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awkward, Choices, Conflict, F/M, Love, Weaving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucreace/pseuds/Lucreace
Summary: As the title suggests, these are a collection of drabbles I have written around the relationship between Thranduil and his wife Eluriel. Mostly, they have been written for practice and fun between RP responses on roleplayer.me
Relationships: Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

FA: 127

The first frost had come to Doriath, the chill in the air was as crisp and sharp as ever. Bright, cool sunlight highlighted delicate webs on expertly carved bushes, the pearls of water dancing in the near winter morning. The wan yellow light filtered through the hazy clouds, reflecting off the gently moving water. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze the flowing water, but it would be cold to the touch.

The ground crunched under Thranduil’s feel, the frost crusted grass bending slightly as his passing. He knew he should stick to the paths and walkways but there was something delightful about the noise. It reminded him that the seasons were to be savoured for their different merits and not to be yearned for after they had passed. He did miss the heat of the summer sun on his back, but there was also something rather lovely about wrapping up in a warm cloak and filling his lungs with the cold air of the early winter morning.

Although he was less than impressed with the task he had been ordered to do by his father, he had made no complaint. The basket hanging on his arm merely served as a reminder that he was not yet old enough to undertake defensive duties. He was One Hundred and Seven! He was an adult and as such, should be able to go with the archers and swordsmen on their rounds. Instead, here he was with a basket on his arm to gather fresh fall for the table. It was beneath him! No amount of arguing would change his father’s mind however, and so he had left. Previous experience had told him exactly how that would go.

Still, the air was fresh and the day young. There was some joy to be had in that at least, and later on he would be able to read some more of the books he’d stashed away and perhaps even some time would be spent with his mother.

Chores first, always that.

As he walked towards the low shrubs towards the woodland area, he thought about his father’s wisdom in that. Oropher was a kindly soul, one who cared for the people he knew. He was inspiring, and Thranduil hoped that when he was older, he would be the same. He also made sure that everyone did something to assist the others, no matter how small. His mother wove the finest cloth; he was wrapped in some of it now, not that he had really noticed how cold it was.

The berries and herbs he had been sent to fetch glistened with hoarfrost, the red looked sharper for it, though the green of the leaves appeared grey. Perfect. They worked and tasted so much better after a frost. The berries would make a delicious jam, and the herbs would be used for healing. They would leave his fingers smelling earthy, a scent he favoured.

Pushing loose strands of hair from his face, Thranduil began looking for the berries that were ripe and ready for harvesting. He had to resist eating them, they were sweet and gorging on them would make him feel unwell – he had learned that in previous years all too well. Before long, half the basket was full and he started on the herbs.

It was then that he realised that he was no longer by himself. Someone had approached without him realising. Thranduil sighed, “If this is your idea of humour Caseriel. It is not funny. It wasn’t funny yesterday, and it won’t be today either,” he said, not keeping the sourness from his tone entirely.

“What’s not funny?”

Thranduil looked up from the leaves he had been cutting, straight into the warm blue eyes of an elf he had never met before. “You’re not Caseriel!” he exclaimed.

“Would you rather I were?” she asked.

“No, I mean yes.” He shook his head, “I am not sure if there is a right answer to this.”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, auburn hair the colour of leaves flowed over her shoulder. Her skin was as clear and pale as the wintery morning. She was dressed as he was, for the cool weather and for a walk out. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

Thranduil indicated the basket on his arm. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You’re not out with the other elves patrolling? Why is that?”

He felt his ears burning and his cheeks flushed, “I think I would prefer it if you were Caseriel,” he said. “I am out here gathering berries and herbs at my mother’s behest. She asked me to do this and so I am here!” He tossed his head, hair fluttering with the motion. “Who are you anyway? Why are you bothering me?”

“And I am out here simply to catch the morning air. I heard that there was great beauty to be seen in this part of the woodland, but here I only find you,” she shrugged again and a smile split her face. Thranduil thought that it was a most lovely smile, not that he was ever going to tell her that. The rest of her was quite unbecoming. Although she wasn’t exactly dishevelled, she wasn’t tidy either. She looked as though she had just returned from a romp through the mud and forgotten to dust herself off. It was decidedly unelflike.

“Well, perhaps you should go then, see if there is something better to look at through the trees,” he said. He bent back down and picked some more of the leaves that he required, trying to ignore her in the hope that she would go away.

“What else have you got in that basket?” she asked. He didn’t respond, instead showed her the contents. There were a couple of larger fruits to one side that he had pilfered for a snack later if he wanted one. She leaned over the bush for a closer look; thankfully she wasn’t able to reach in and take it herself. “You have a picnic, how quaint,” she said.

“Just in case I get hungry,” he said, sure she was taunting him for it.

“Of course,” she said. When she didn’t say anything else, he paused, unsure whether he should speak or not. He didn’t know what to say to her, now did he want to appear foolish by opening his mouth and saying something moronic. It felt odd to be silent however, so he coughed.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“I didn’t give it. What’s yours?”

“Thranduil, son of-“

“Oropher, I know,” she said.

“Why did you ask then?” he said before thinking.

“I wanted to see if you would give it freely,” she said. He snorted and shoved the last of the leaves into the basket. Getting to his feet, he picked it up again.

“It is given,” he said.

She nodded then and looked in the direction she had been walking. “As lovely as this exchange hasn’t been, I really should continue on my way,” she said gesturing towards the wilder part of the forest. It was safe, for the boundary of their lands was far to the south. Thranduil shrugged.

“Pleasant day to you then,” he said.

She smiled again, and Thranduil felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards without thought. She bade him a gesture of farewell with her hand and left him standing there in the middle of the path watching her go. What an unusual creature she was. She had reached the edge of the forest when he realised that she had not told him her name. He wasn’t about to chase after her for it, so he raised his voice instead. “I didn’t get your name!” he yellowed.

She turned back, “I never gave it to you! Let me have one of those shining apples?”

taking a huge bite from it. He waited a moment. “Well?” he asked.

All that came back was joyous laughter. “Perhaps next time!” she called back before walking into the forest. Thranduil was left puzzled at the exchange, but found that he wasn’t angered by it. Perhaps next time he was here, he would see the she-elf again and learn who she was.


	2. Chapter 2

“No Caseriel,” Thranduil said shaking his head. “I am not going!”

“You’d rather stay here and sulk?”

Thranduil looked up from the work he was doing and rolled his eyes. The loom was a mess, a mess of his creating and he knew he would be in for a mocking if he didn’t fix it. “I don’t want to leave this in a state like this,” he said.

“Worried you’ll get another verbal bashing?”

“My fingers are not as nimble as yours,” Thranduil said.

Caseriel laughed, “You’ve got that right. I can fix that if you want, then we can both go to.”

Thranduil turned his fingers to the loom and shook his head, “No, I won’t learn that way.” Weaving was a skill that he knew he had to learn, wanted to even but it was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Looking at the tapestries that surrounded their home had always been a source of inspiration for him, and he had vowed to be able to do so himself one day. Today was not that day. Tomorrow wasn’t looking good either. Maybe he would never be as great as those who had created these works – Aenor for instance was a weaver of superlative talent, but he enjoyed the process.

“Suit yourself,” Caseriel said. “Shall I tell _her_ that you’d rather be weaving then?”

“Tell her what you want,” he said, “I’ve decided that I don’t like her all that much anyway.” Thranduil knew exactly who Caseriel was attempting to tease him with and he did not rise to the bait.

“Sure, if you say so,” he shrugged. Thranduil turned his attention to the botched weave he had created and focused on loosening the threads. “Did you ever get her name?”

The tips of his ears burned but he still said nothing. Of course he’d not managed to get her name yet! He’d spent far more time avoiding seeing the auburn haired she-elf than he had with her. Their conversations were awkward, stilted almost and he was sure she was laughing at him all the time. As far as he was aware, they were barely friends.

“Like you did!” Thranduil snapped, unable to keep his tongue still.

“Yes,” Caseriel said. Thranduil snorted. “I will leave you to your loom!”

Thranduil waved his friend off, his attention falsely engrossed on the loom in front of him. The tangle was so bad, that he gave up trying to unpick it with the shuttle, and carefully used a needle to loosen the threads. It was delicate work, even for a novice, and it took a great deal of his attention. He was vaguely aware of time passing as he unpicked and worked at the rotten threads, and he knew he should eat something, but this seemed more important than anything else.

By the time he was approached once again, he thought he had the worst it under control and was about to start moving the shuttle back and forth between the threads once again. He looked up, straight into the blue eyes of the mystery she-elf he had claimed he didn’t like all that much.

She was carrying a small plate of food and a glass of wine. “Caseriel said you weren’t coming,” she said. Did he detect disappointment in her voice? Surely not.

“No,” he said.

She searched his face for a while, it was uncomfortable. “Why not?” He pulled his gaze from her and back to the loom.

“I wanted to finish sorting out this mess,” he said. He heard her walk over and place the plate down on the small table behind him.

“What have you done to that poor loom?” she asked.

“I fixed it!” he protested.

“Did you?” she asked. She shuffled on to the stool he had been sitting on, budging him up. Of course he moved and let her look at his work so far. She was silent for a long time, allowing him to study her. Damn it. This was making a liar out of him. Her skin smelled so fresh, vaguely floral with a note of something else. He was sure that if he tried, he could write poetry about all the shades of red-gold in her hair. “If you paid attention to what I am doing you might learn something, Thranduil son of Oropher,” she said.

Once again, he felt his ears burning. “Look, you see the weave here,” she said pointing at the thread attached to the shuttle. He nodded. “It’s far too tight. Up until this point, it’s really beautiful, but the tension increased and the thread has thinned. It’s what’s creating your problem.”

“Tension in my thread?” he asked.

“Yes.” She turned to look at him again, her head tilted, “But I think perhaps in other places too.” Thranduil stiffened at that, “You see, you think too much, you need everything to be just perfect but it never will be while you’re like that.”

“I don’t even know your name,” he said, “Why should I listen?”

She gestured to the loom in front of him. The thread had relaxed under her care. “Does it mean that much to you? I was told you don’t like me all that much!”

Thranduil snorted. “Caseriel tell you that?”

She smiled. “Is it true?”

“Yes, I think you’re a terrible elf and I never want to see you again,” he said. She raised an eyebrow. His face split into a smile and he shook his head. “You will make a liar of me!” She laughed.

“My name is Êlúriel, daughter of Melrian,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” Thranduil asked. She took his hands in hers. They were warm and dry; he was sure his heart stopped beating at her touch.

“I had to be sure,” she said. He frowned again but she didn’t explain further. She was a most confusing she-elf, perhaps the most vague he had ever met. “Now, if you’re not going to come up to the gathering, we should spend the time constructively. Let’s get this bolt of cloth finished? Perhaps then you could take me for a walk in the moonlight?”

“I would enjoy that,” he said. Her hands guided his back to the shuttle.

“Show me how you do this,” she said. With that, he set back to work aware that he was now smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

FA – 129

Spring was Thranduil’s favourite time of year. The promise of new life burst everywhere he looked. The fresh leaves on the trees had burst their buds a few days before. The first white flowers of the season poked through the frost hardened soil, bringing with them the promise of truly warmer days. Birds had brought him out of his meditative trance that morning but there was no irritation at it. Their song had changed, now they sang of the prospect of eggs and plenty of food.

The morning had passed swiftly, spent as he always did, training with his bow and in martial pursuits. He’d been focusing on archery that particular morning. Using the war bow, rather than the short bow for hunting. It was a weapon he was growing used to. The pull was heavier but it no longer made his shoulder ache the way it had done the first time. He knew he was getting quicker too. Caseriel was absent this morning; he had recently spent more and more time patrolling outside Doriath that Thranduil was beginning to miss his taunts.

Thranduil would be joining them with his father the next day.

Every pull of the bow hit its mark, every arrow flew true. He dearly hoped that it would be so tomorrow. Of all the elves he wanted to impress, Oropher was top of the list. Thranduil admired his father more than anyone else and was eager to show that he was worth taking along.

After hastily washing off the morning’s dirt, he grabbed a basket with some food in. He knew his mother was behind that action, though she was nowhere to be seen. He’d decided to head out into the forest to the spot by the spring. The stream would be coming to life, and that was something Thranduil enjoyed seeing. The watercress starting to multiply, the fish waking up and touching the sun-lit surface of the water.

It wasn’t long before he was there. The scent of clean leaves touched the air, the music of the stream dancing over pebbles filled the space and birdsong echoed through the woodland. He spread a woven blanket onto the damp ground before settling down with his back against a tree.

His gaze was drawn to the other side of the river and he smiled, “Well, come on then, there is enough food in here for both of us,”

Êlúriel stepped out from behind one of the trees, hopped over the stream and settled on the blanket beside him. “No insult for me today?” she asked.

“Why ruin a perfect spring day?” he said. Digging into the basket, he pulled out an apple and handed it to her. She took it and bit into it.

“Perfect?” she said.

“Yes.” He pulled out some other bits of food – bread, some cheese and a few slices of dried meat. Placing some of the meat between two slices of bread, he nodded again.

“Alright, so tell me why!” she said, “Or I’ll say something awful and ruin the day for you!”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Her sweet face fell, the smile all but chased from her face. “Leaving?” she said. The hand that held the apple was paused half way between her mouth and knee where it had been resting. The smile sprang back moments later, “That’s good. Yes. That’s really good.”

Thranduil frowned. “I’m going with my father to join the patrols.”

“You’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she said, finally biting the apple, “I am pleased for you.”

“But…” he said. He bit some more of the bread.

“No, really. I am pleased for you, Thranduil.”

“But…?”

She turned her vibrant green eyes to him and sighed. “Sometimes, you are so dense,” she said. Thranduil searched her face, trying to see what she was getting at. She snorted, “We have spent time together nearly every day since I saw you looking all pathetic at that loom.”

“I was not looking pathetic.”

“Yes you were, you had thread everywhere, your finger was pricked until it was bleeding and the cloth was tenser than… well you,” she said. He conceded the point with a wave of his hand. “The point I am trying to make is that while I am pleased for you, I am sad for myself.”

“Because I won’t be here to irritate you every day,” he said.

She put her half-eaten apple down and took both his hands in hers. They were warm despite the mild chill in the air. He looked down at them, a softer smile touching his face. “Not irritate,” she said.

“You tell me that every time we’re together.” His fingers closed around hers; they were small and delicate, and he worried he might break them if he held too tightly.

“You are frustrating, irritating, unable to relax…” she said. “But you’re so many other things too and I’m going to miss all of them,” she said. He flicked his eyes to her face and a flood of understanding rushed through him. For a moment, he was unable to speak. “See, so slow. Have you caught up now?” she asked.

“I think so.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Think?”

He brought the back of her hand up to his lips and pressed them against it. Her eyes brightened at the gesture, something he wanted to see again. “I know.”

“Then promise me one thing,” she said.

“What?”

“Come back safe,” she said. “It’s dangerous out there and I want you to come back.”

“I will.”

“You swear it?”

“I have to come back and annoy you some more, I’m not going to let that duty fall to anyone else am I?” he said. She laughed, and that lovely smile lit up her face once more. He leaned towards her, not hesitating and kissed her cheek.

“You missed,” she said. “Try again.”

He laughed. Êlúriel tilted her head a little and this time, he caught her mouth. Her lips were soft, softer than her hand. Sparks danced through him, his chest fluttered. Time ceased to matter and his eyes closed. She touched his cheek and he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll come back,” he whispered.

“You better,” she said. She drew back and picked up the apple, “Who else is going to bring me such crisp apples?”

Thranduil found himself laughing again and handed her another apple, “Keep this one for tomorrow, think of me while I am away.”

“I always do,” she said, taking the apple. “No more talk of leaving until later, let’s enjoy the spring afternoon.” That was all Thranduil needed to hear, his attention focused on her and the beauty of the early spring day.


	4. Chapter 4

Thranduil ground his teeth together, trying not to let his frustration show. He was failing utterly and he knew it. Trying to be calm, he folded his arms instead and refused to look up. To do so would mean to give in to his father and cease this argument. Heat thundered through his body, his cheeks aflame with the ire this refusal had brought.

“Look at me!” his father commanded.

Thranduil refused. He kept his gaze locked with a particularly interesting chip in the stone floor.

“You are not helping your case by acting like a petulant child! Look at me!”

Forcing his jaw to relax, he did as asked. How could his father be so cold with this? Had they not spent an age together hunting and patrolling in the forest? Thranduil had thought they’d reached an understanding together out there. That they had bonded and become more than just father and son, but friends as well. It seemed as though he had been wrong about that, like so many other things.

“I want you to understand the reasons behind my decision, Thranduil.” Oropher sat in his study at his desk. He had been working on some business when Thranduil had entered with his request. The study itself was a comfortable room, the soft light of the summer sun filtered through the window warming the room. A large wall handing adorned the left wall but the stone was bare.

“Well?” he asked.

“You’re young, too young for such a commitment. You’re barely out of your first century and have so much to see and learn,” he said. When Thanduil went to point out that he was willing to wait for a different answer, Oropher held up his hand. “That is not the only reason so keep your mouth closed. I know you’re going to tell me that you’re willing to wait. I know you’ll tell me that she is as well, I know you think you love her, she might think she loves you. Maturity may shed some light on that and I won’t have you entangle yourself with someone at this age.

“That brings me to the second reason I am refusing this request,” he said. Thranduil let his hands drop to his sides and waited for his father to continue. “Who are you?”

“What?”

“Remember your manners Thranduil!”

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you?” his father repeated.

“I am Thranduil, son of Oropher. What is the point of all this?”

“You are my son, and that comes with a weight of responsibility. You are my heir and you have so much to learn when it comes to ruling. You were born into this place of privilege and it is about time you understood what that means. One day, you will be responsible for our people.”

“I am aware of that,” he said.

“Are you?” Oropher rose from his seat and stepped out from behind the desk. He paced the floor in front of the empty fireplace. “I am not so sure you fully understand what that means. You will spend a lot of your time tending to the needs of others when I am gone. Their needs have to come first, not yours. This you will come to understand as I teach you these things.”

“Why does this mean I cannot marry Êlúriel?” he asked. “I don’t see why who I am is a barrier.”

“It’s who she is that is the problem.” Oropher said. “I know Êlúriel, I know she has been a good friend to you and there is nothing stopping that continuing, but she is no leader. She is a practical female, I know she fights as well as any of her siblings and I have seen her craftsmanship. But these are not the trappings needed for a leader. During your toughest hours, you will need someone beside you who will support you. She will only demand more of you and you will not have the time to spare it. She will become miserable in your absence. Do you want to make her miserable?” Oropher asked.

“But mother-“

“Comes from a long line of Sindar who have wed leaders. She was trained from birth much as you have been.” Thranduil folded his arms over his chest once more and looked away from his father. He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“I do not want her to be unhappy,” he said. “This…”

“She will come to understand, she is not stupid.” Thranduil sighed. “When you are older, we will find you someone better suited to the role. You have years before then. You have so much learning to do before then.” Oropher put his hand on his shoulder; Thranduil shrugged it off.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he snapped. That was enough. He had the answer, the last thing he wanted was to hear about someone else taking her place. Thranduil inclined his head, turned on his heel and stalked out of his father’s study. He did not slam the door, he wasn’t quite that immature but he certainly felt like it.

He left the hall, burst into the garden and stalked off down the path into the orchard. He did not stop until he arrived at the stream. He was out of breath, streaked with dirt. Face wet from tears, he drew his hand over his eyes and flopped down next to the water. Burying his head into his hands, he huffed out a sob and let the tears flow. When the tears were spent, he sat there staring at the water flowing. How was he ever going to let Êlúriel know?

He picked up a nearby pebble and turned it over in his hand. She was perfect in every way. Not only for her tawny looks and winsome smile but her mind too. Êlúriel was the one who had taught him to weave properly, every bit as much as the others. She was the one who pushing him to be better, who challenged his thoughts and questioned his opinions. She made him better, think more openly, eased his suspicions and had the good grace to laugh at him when he deserved it.

How could his father think these were not qualities worthy of him? Thranduil threw the pebble into the stream and picked up another. The words his father had spoken echoed in his mind too, ‘Do you want to make her miserable?’ Of course he didn’t. He wanted to see her smile, that one that lit up her eyes when she laughed. He never wanted to see her with tears in her eyes or a trace of sadness about her. Could he make her that happy? Even when he was dealing with official matters? Matters that might mean he ignored her for weeks at a time? He couldn’t promise that.

He threw the second pebble and rested his chin on his knee. The sound of the water babbling over the stones was soothing, though it did little to ease his mind. He shut his eyes and blocked out everything other than the sound of the water.

When a light hand touched his shoulder, he jumped.

“What’s this?” Êlúriel asked. “Thranduil, caught unawares?”

Looking up, he tried to smile. “I’d try to deny that but you’d just laugh.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She sat down beside him, her face full of concern.

He pressed his lips together, the wan smile evaporating. “I spoke to my father about us today,” he said. He watched her face fall, as he knew it would. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes slowly closing.

“It did not go well I take it?”

“No,” he said. “He thinks I would make you miserable. That you are not prepared for the burdens of leadership that I will carry. That it will make you unhappy.”

“And you believed him?” she said. Her voice was higher than usual, only a little but enough. Thranduil shook his head.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said. He leaned his head against hers, “I do know that I will not marry another. I’ll spend my time with the armies instead.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she said. She ran her hand down his arm and laced their fingers together when she reached his palm.

“Or we could continue seeing one another in secret?”

“That’s more foolish than your last thought,” she said. He squeezed her fingers gently and sighed.

“The army it is then.”

“Thranduil!” Êlúriel said.

“I cannot bare the thought of having to see you with another,” he said. He turned towards her, searching her green eyes. He brushed his thumb over her cheek and shook his head, “But if this cannot be, if we cannot be then I don’t see another choice. I wanted to have you at my side for eternity. I can’t have that.” He paused, running his thumb over her cheek, repeating the motion and trying to find the right words. All the while, the stream babbled in the background, the soft music fading into the distance. “I may not love another, but that won’t stop you.”

“You are the biggest idiot sometimes,” she snorted. She jerked her head away and turned to look at the stream instead of him. “Do you not think I love you with the same depth?” she asked. “Don’t you think that…” her words trialled off and he saw tears well in her eyes. “That this hurts me as much as you?”

“I-“

“Just. Shut up.” He did so, but he did not let go of her hand either. Not yet. The silence extended. He didn’t know what to say, did he need to say anything? Her soft sobbing drew his attention, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t going to help but he couldn’t bear to see such anguish in her. That he was the cause of such was worse. She leaned into him, her face buried in his shoulder and for a long time, he held her close.

Eventually, she pulled away. She brushed away the tears from her cheeks and smiled. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his cheek. Her kiss made his skin tingle. “I should go,” she said. He wanted to say so much to her; that he would fix this, they would be alright. They could carry on seeing one another and this would blow over. That he would make his father change his mind and one day they’d spend eternity together. All he managed was a nod.

“I will see you around?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said, “Though I might not call for a while.”

He let her fingers slide out of his grasp, and he nodded again, “I understand,” he said. She smiled, though it was a wan, joyless thing that left her eyes cold. She turned away, and despite everything, he watched her go until he could see her no more.

***

True to his word, Thranduil spent the next few centuries with the armies of his father. He learned to command them, gained their respect and fought alongside them against the enemies of his people. While he did not avoid the company and comfort of his home and Doriath, he did not relish the thought of returning either. All the she-elves his father gently encouraged him to spend time with, he politely rejected. He did not avoid Êlúriel, how could he do so? Every time he saw her, he was reminded why he spent time away. He didn’t enquire after her, preferring to be away. It seemed easier that way. It was only when the dwarves brought strife to Doriath that Thranduil and the army returned.


	5. Chapter 5

The smell was one Thranduil would never forget as long as he lived. Everything was burning, or had burned. The air tasted of ash, cloying and turning this throat to dust. Smoke filled the streets, wide as they were, and the sound of panic echoed all around. Seeing was difficult, the smoke made his eyes sting. Still he clawed his way towards his destination. He had no idea how it had come to this. Spending time away had him at a disadvantage.

Sword in hand, he wandered through what had once been his home. The screams of his kin, the heat, the fear. His father had said about betrayal. The Noldor had come with swords in hand and demands on their tongues. When their demands had been refused, the burning had started. His father had thrown names around the moment he had returned.

The patrol he had been on had been summoned back with a hastily scrawled message that made no sense. It had done the trick and they’d returned as quickly as they could. The moment the four of them smelled the fire, they’d ran to their home. Oropher, covered in soot already. Panic touched him. He’d grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a firm embrace. “Get as many as you can, send them to the hill in the east. We have to leave this place.”

Those words rang in his ears, “Get as many as you can…”

There were dead in the street, sword marks and blood staining the bodies. Thranduil’s thoughts cycled as he picked his way through. “Get as many as you can.” These were his people. He had to tell them where to go.

He pulled a door open, “To the eastern hill, my father is waiting for you,” he shouted into the room. The occupants darted forward.

“To the east?”

“Yes! Take others. All you can find!”

They nodded and darted into the smoke. Thranduil coughed and followed them. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he headed towards other dwellings. Êlúriel! She had to be here somewhere. Thunder pounded in his ears. His chest clenched, tightening around heart like a band.

Looking around, he orientated himself. She lived to the south. A glance that way told him that the worst of the smoke was that way. There was no hesitation. Picking up the pace, he jogged down the street, racing towards her house. She had to be there! Had to. What if they had got to her? What if he never got to see her again? His chest clenched at the thought. He had held back seeing her for all these years, what if he never did so again? He should have fought harder, refused his father and ran off with her. He blinked tears from his eyes, charging down the street towards her house. He called her name, desperate to find her. When he did, he’d tell her everything.

By the time he got to where Êlúriel lived, the house was ablaze. Great gouts of flame tore up the walls, rushing to consume the thatched roof. He tried to take a step forward, but the heat of the fire kept him at bay. Nothing could survive such a blaze. How could their kin do this? So much destruction over what? A gemstone? One of the most precious gems has been stolen from this world by this blaze. Thranduil screwed his eyes shut, blinking back tears that had nothing to do with the smoke. She would never know…

He drew in a breath. Grief could wait. There were others who needed help. He could hardly stand here like a lost child while others moved.

Slowly, he turned away. He backed off down the street back the way he came. Checking houses, he found others trapped and gave them the direction they needed. Some stayed with him, some made their own way. The flames consumed everything in their path; Thranduil knew their home was lost. As the sparks rose higher, he knew they had to go.

“Follow me!” he said. Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, he turned his back on the place that had been his home, and led those he had found toward the eastern hill. As they ran through the burning streets, more joined them.

By the time they reached the foothills, there were close to fifty with him. All of them were charred, some burned worse than others. Thranduil knew his silver blond hair was covered in ash, and his skin felt gritty. He did not stop, he had to get these people to his father, they had to escape, to survive.

They did not stop until they reached the trees. Turning, Thranduil saw the complete destruction of their once beautiful home. There had been no part of it that hadn’t been touched. “The Noldor did this.” His father said. His hand rested on his shoulder.

“For what?”

“Greed,” he said.

“Where will we go?” Thranduil asked.

“Over the sea, we have passage. We’ll take our people east, to Middle Earth. I know the forests are dense, we can build ourselves a secure home, away from all others, from the Noldor, and anyone else who would do us harm.” Oropher said. Thranduil nodded. He bit his lip and swallowed. “Come on, don’t mourn now, we can do that later.” He nodded again, and they melted back into the trees.

Thranduil didn’t speak, the crushing heaviness in his chest robbed him of his voice. All he could do was place one foot in front of the other and follow his people up to the crest of the hill. His thoughts turned back to the loss of her. He was empty, a great weight settled on his shoulders, forcing him down. He should have said something, done something rather than sulk off to play at soldiers. He should have been there for her. He could have saved her! Reaching the top of the hill, he let out a deep sigh.

When he looked up, his eyes met an all too familiar pair of tawny ones. Thranduil froze. He blinked. She was still there.

He was moving towards without thought, without hearing anything else around him; she was all that mattered. She collided into him, his arms wrapping around her tight. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered into her hair. “I went to your house, I thought the flames had…” He let the words trail off, her hands clenched into the fabric of his cloak.

“I’m here,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, as though she had inhaled smoke. Freeing his hand, he traced the line of her dusty jaw with his thumb. She turned her head and for a moment, he simply searched her eyes. He brushed a tear away, lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers. His father would see this and he cared not a wit. She responded immediately, pushing back. She was as soft and sweet as he remembered. Her lips parted, the exchange deepened, subtly changing in tone; whether it was from desperation or relief he cared not. She clung to him, her hand crept to the back of his neck, pushing into his ash-stained hair. His eyes drifted closed and for a long moment, nothing else mattered.

When her hand touched his cheek, he flicked back to where they were. “Your father-“

“This is a discussion for another time,” Oropher said. Thranduil slid his hand into hers and she stepped away.

“I’m not-“

“Another time, we have to go,” he said. He gestured towards the fire, “We need to disappear!” Êlúriel squeezed his hand and let go.

“I’ll be alright,” she said.

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “I cannot lose you again.”

“You won’t. Come on, let’s go!” she said. She took the initiative then and strode off, away from the flames.

“At least one of you has some sense still!” Oropher said. Thranduil smirked and followed her, the rest of his people behind him.


	6. The Fountain

The Fountain

The warm light of spring filtered through the trees, bringing the joy of the new season with it. Fresh green leaves had burst their buds, the breeze caressed them with the gentleness of a long-missed lover. The jubilant song of birds echoed after they danced from branch to branch. Nest building and preparing for the new life that was coming. The first flowers were pushing through the thawing ground, although they were not yet in bloom, the promise of colour as there.

Thranduil was sure that this was his favourite time of year. All the seasons had merits, even the depths of winter, but with new life blooming all around it was hard to remember the joys of other times of the year. The dappled sunlight hit his face, warming it and bringing a smile to his lips. As he walked along the stone path to the formal garden, he couldn’t help running his hand over the low hedge. It was still wet with the morning dew, but he didn’t mind. Everything felt so clean and clear, so fresh and new.

At the centre of the garden was a small waterfall that had fashioned into a fountain. The stone had been carved by his hand, many years ago. It wasn’t beautiful, in his mind it was rather crude, but Êlúriel had insisted they kept it. He’d installed a bench underneath an arbour, and then trained climbing plants up and over the wood. His lovely wife had made sure flowers decorated the broken stone path; in the summer, it would be awash of colour.

He settled himself on the stone bench and contented himself with listening to the music around him. The gentle tickle of the fountain, the distant birdsong and the rush of the wind in the trees. He loved this place. Not just this secret place but the forest. It wasn’t Doriath, but that hadn’t been the intention when they created this place. This was theirs, a simpler, easier way of life away from the expectation on anyone else. It wasn’t paradise, but it was close.

Footsteps brought him out of his reverie and he looked up. His smile widened and he rose to his feet. “Meleth,” he said.

She took his hands and returned the smile, “You look tired,” she said.

He leaned in and kissed her lips. “Your loveliness does much to restore me,” he said. “How is he?” he asked.

“Resting, finally,” she said.

She was as lovely as the spring day; the dappled light caressed her skin. Her hair shone auburn in the sun and her eyes danced. The smile on her face was different somehow. Catching her chin in his palm, he tilted her head to face him.

“What is all this? You have something you want to say?” he asked. She squeezed his hand and sat down beside the fountain. She drew him down with him and laughed.

“I cannot hide anything from you,” she said.

Thranduil frowned. “You never tried.”

“And I wouldn’t,” she said. She took his hands again, her eyes met his. They were dancing, jubilant. She laughed again and shook her head. “If you could see your face right now. Don’t look so scared!”

“I’d not look so scared-“ She silenced him with a kiss, and his mind eased. Whatever it was couldn’t be awful, she was laughing after all. As always, she seemed to melt his cares away. Endless questions faded into nothing and her hand touched his cheek. He covered it with his and twisted to kiss her palm. “Do you remember the last time we sat here like this?” she said.

“Just the two of us?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment. It had been a while. Since Legolas had come into their lives, they’d been very busy with bringing him up. It had only been a few years, and he was growing quickly. He caused a great deal of mischief and delight to both of them. Thranduil loved that little elfling more than anything, he had made them both so happy.

“It was when you told me about Legolas,” he said.

She took one of his hands and placed it on her stomach, “You’re going to be a father, again.” His heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened and his fingers pressed into the fabric of her dress. All he could hear was the gentle tinkle of the water and the thudding of his heart. “Are you alright?” she asked. Her hand covered his and she smiled up at him.

“So soon?”

“We have spent centuries waiting for these days, why wait any longer?” she said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders; she leaned against him, her small frame warm. “I know you don’t want Legolas to be an only child like we were, it seemed right to have them all close together.”

“You’re right. Legolas is going to be so happy.”

“We can’t tell him yet,” she said. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “I want us to enjoy this for a while, just us. We can do that for a bit.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” She looked up to him with that big smile of hers. How could he ever love another when she looked at him like that? She was his world, she made him feel that no matter how difficult or distressing he found the kingship, he could handle it. He had no idea what he would do without her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. He was going to be a father again, he could feel his heart swelling at the thought. He couldn’t wait to meet this new being they had created together. He smiled and kissed her again, content and at peace. How he was going to hide this he did not know; his smile would give him away, of that he was sure. He wouldn’t be able to keep that from his features, not for anyone in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

“Where’s emel?”

Thranduil looked up from his writing and smiled. “She will be home soon,” he said. He placed the quill down and watched the little boy walk over.

“When?” he asked when he reached his chair. Thranduil pushed back from behind his desk and lifted his son into his lap. Hearing his son’s question was heart wrenching; he wished that he was enough for him, but every child needed their mother.

“I miss her too,” he said. Never one to be still, Legolas wiggled out of his grip and placed his sticky fingers onto the parchment he had been writing on. The paper stuck to his fingers, and when he tried to pull it off with his other hand, it tore. Legolas looked around, eye wide. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him.

“I didn’t mean to…” His bottom lip trembled, and water danced in his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Thranduil said, “It’s alright, accidents happen.”

The door squeaked then and they both looked up. Canthuiel stood in the doorway. “There you are!” she said relief in her voice. The dark haired silvan looked panicked when she saw Legolas up on the desk, but relief quickly followed. The King did not look annoyed to have been bothered at this time.

“Have you been running off again Legolas?” Thranduil asked.

“I went to find emel.”

Thranduil scooped his son up into his arms and got to his feet. Tiny arms curled around his neck, holding on tight. “You found me instead, she will be home soon, and you can have her all to yourself again,” he said. He hugged his son tightly. “But you have to listen to Canthuiel and do as you’re told. Remember what we talked about?” he said. Legolas nodded before burying his face in his father’s neck. He yawned. “I think this little leaf needs some sleep,” he said.

“No,” he moaned, despite another yawn escaping him.

“Shall I take him?” Canthuiel asked.

Legolas moaned again and Thranduil shook his head, “I’ll take him,” he said. “He misses Êlúriel, you go and rest yourself. He has been running you around all day.” She bowed her head and he swept past her. “Now, you little leaf are going in the bath! Don’t think I can’t feel those sticky hands.” There was a little giggle from Legolas.

“And a story?”

“And then bed,” Thranduil said. Legolas nodded, apparently too tired to argue any further.

Legolas was asleep within the hour. Clean and tucked in, he didn’t get passed the second page of the story. Thranduil was relieved about that. His son was interested in everything and as such, getting him to rest was often difficult. He fought his weariness, which made bedtimes awkward. It seemed that looking for Êlúriel had tired him out. Thranduil headed back to his study, he should get that letter rewritten before he took his rest.

As he wrote, he thought of his beloved wife. She should have been back a couple of days ago, but the time it took to get between Mirkwood and Rivendell could be difficult to fathom. She had insisted she be the one to answer the calling, and once Êlúriel got an idea into her head, there was not much that could talk her out of it. It was one of the reasons he loved her. That and her gentle, calm demeanour, her beautiful eyes that danced like stars and her ability to put up with any of the nonsense he brought to her. He dearly hoped she would be home soon.

***

It was early morning, before the sun had risen, that the rider belted into the halls. He dismounted, tossed the reins to the stable hand, and strode straight towards the King’s chambers. Thranduil was alerted to his presence by the commotion outside made by the guards. He was back to wakefulness in seconds. Striding across the room, he opened the door and was met by the most dishevelled elf he had seen in a long time. A hastily tied bandage covered his forehead, through which blood had leaked. He was covered in dust, mud, and grime, stirred up by his horse no doubt.

“You were one of the guards with the Queen,” he said. The guard bowed low; his head hung.

“Your Grace,” he said.

“Where is she?” He searched the guard’s eyes as his heart began to thunder. The guard did not raise his head or come out of the bow. “Do not make me ask again. Start talking!”

“Orcs,” he said.

“A handful of orcs should be no match for members of my guard!” His heart clenched; panic gripped his stomach. Clenching his fists as his sides, he glared at the elf. “You had better start explaining!”

“There were fifty or so of them. They were waiting on our side of the high pass, whether on purpose or not is unknown.” He heaved out a sigh before continuing. “We were outnumbered and no matter how skilled we are, we couldn’t kill them all. Many were slain, but not before… They took her your grace.” The anguish in his voice was clear at breaking this news. Thranduil forced his hand to relax, forced himself to listen. Panic now would serve no purpose. “I followed them north. She was alive three days ago, but I couldn’t fight them alone and to die without informing anyone would have been pointless. I had to come back. Forgive me your Grace, I have failed you.”

Thranduil wanted to scream at him, to demand to know why he hadn’t done everything in his power to bring her back. He knew this was the wiser course of action, so he nodded, albeit with clenched teeth. “You did the right thing.” The guard nodded and finally raised his head. Thranduil had already turned away, “Ready the army, we ride within the hour.”

“I will ride with you,” said the guard before he had time to storm out, “I will show you where I last saw them.”

“You will,” Thranduil nodded before sweeping out of the room.

Before he went to the armoury, before surrendering completely to the anger that threatened to overwhelm his better sensibilities, he visited his sleeping son. Creeping in without a sound, he took a moment to just watch him. He looked so peaceful curled up as he was. The blanket had been thrown off, his arms and legs were thrown out at every angle, but nothing disturbed his rest. Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to his forehead and pulled the blanket back over the tangle of limbs. “I will bring her back for you to see soon, I promise,” he said. Legolas didn’t stir, and Thranduil withdrew. Canthuiel would care for him for the few days he was away, as she had done so in the past.

***

It took two and a half days to reach the spot where the guard, named Amrithion, had broke off his pursuit. The weather had been on their side up until this moment, and the tracks the band of orcs had left was clear to see. The trampled grass, the discarded items and waste left a trail that the elves would not have trouble following. Unfortunately, the weather turned on them, slowing their progress. The heavy rain turned the grassland to swamp, and the horses found it hard going.

The rain didn’t bother Thranduil, his entire mind was occupied with finding Êlúriel. She was a strong elf, he knew that, and she had most likely escaped her bonds already and was making her way back to Mirkwood as they rode out. He dearly hoped that was the case but knew in his heart it was not so. He worried constantly, wondering what had become of her. Was she alive? What had they done to her? What effect would it have? He had bitten his nails to stubs as the questions circled around in his head. The longer it took to track the band of orcs, the shorter his nails, and his temper, got.

On the fifth day, they reached the foot of the northern mountain of Gundabad. The elves dismounted and left the horses about a mile away, choosing to creep up to the fortress on foot. That the band of roving orcs had entered the mountain stronghold was beyond doubt. There had been only one trace of their kin, and that was the battered remains of a cloak. It hadn’t been Êlúriel’s, but the message had been received clearly.

The strike on the fortress was to be swift and without mercy. Thranduil had purposefully kept the force he had brought with him reasonably small so they would be able to take the creatures by surprise. They were dressed for war, and somehow the grime from the muddy ride had not tarnished the shine on their armour. The elves split into two teams, to make a two-pronged attack at the mountain fortress.

Without a sound, both groups crept up on the fortress. There were several sentries along the way, which were killed swiftly and without alerting the others. Thranduil took one, drawing a dagger over its throat before moving forward. The foul smell of its black blood was stomach churning, but he had killed enough orcs to know that. The moment it was done, he moved on.

The moment they were spotted, both forces rose and pushed the attack forward. Supported by archers at the rear, who felled many of the surprised orcs, the elves charged. Guttural grunts roared through the air from the throats of the orcs, the elves made little sound at all. They fought with a cool precision and brutal efficacy. Thranduil had long since put aside the flourishes and flamboyant style some used, viewing it as inefficient. He needed to get this done as quickly as possible so he could devote his energy to finding his people.

Stepping past one he had just killed; he brought his lead sword up to block a strike. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, he followed the blow through, piercing the attacker with his offhand weapon. The next blow struck his next target with a low blow, severing a leg, the third bifurcated another’s torso. Each movement flowed into the next, and the next, and the next bringing him ever closer to where he needed to be.

His force crashed against the fortress like a tidal wave. Hewing down the orc forces as though they were made of paper. For all their greater number, they lacked in skill. There had been no time to shut the great doors, so they forced their way inside, killing as they went.

“Êlúriel!” he yelled as soon as he was within the courtyard. A huge tower rose on the left of the fortress, made of dark stone with few windows. It had a large open platform on one side, the purpose of which he did not know. To the other side was a squat building that smelled fouler than anything he had encountered before.

She would be in the tower. It was furthest from the exit. If he were going to keep prisoners in here, it would be up there. A dungeon was handy but keeping prisoners in there; it seemed logical to him. “In there,” he said. There were confirmations beside him, and the force powered towards the bottom of the tower. Cleaving another orc in half, Thranduil pushed another out the way with the next blow. When he reached the bottom of the tower, he booted the door open with a shout. “Êlúriel!” he bellowed. She had to be in here!

He was presented with a twisting staircase that rose into the gloom of the tower. There was no hesitation, he took the stairs two at a time, destroying anything that got in his path. The tower was wide, and every door he came across he opened. Most rooms were empty, one was full of arms and battered looking armour. Every orc he came across, he killed. Not one of these creatures would he suffer to live. Their very existence tormented him Their foul, beady black eyes tasked him, and he would cease their lives.

Thranduil had no idea how many he had killed when he reached the top of the tower, but when he threw open the last door, his worst fears were realised. The stink of rancid meat met him the moment he stepped through the door. A quick glance around the room showed him the true horror of what had gone on here. Blackened stone made up the walls and a large cauldron hung over a vast fireplace; a fatty substance had congealed around the sides. There was a closed door on the other side of the room, which he assumed led to the outdoor platform. The odd bone gathered near the walls, their origin questionable.

What drew his eyes was the tawny haired elf in the centre of the room. She was facing away from the door, not moving at all. It was her! He would know her anywhere! Thranduil strode into the room, over to the hard block of stone she was laying on. “Êlúriel!” he called. “Meleth, it’s me.” His heart leapt into his throat as he carefully crossed to the other side of the stone slab. What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his days. There was not a part of her that didn’t have blood on it. Her beautiful eyes were closed, her face bruised and puffy almost beyond recognition. Her lips were cracked, her once vibrant skin dull and grey. Her clothing was stained, and soiled, dark blood caked the fabric to the point it hardly moved.

He reached out and brushed a lock of her hair from her face. Her vivid blue eyes opened, but they were not the eyes he recalled. These were wild, animalistic and had no recognition in them at all. She tried to scream but the only sound that came out was a parched rasp. When Thranduil went to touch her again, she flinched and pulled away. “It’s me,” he said softly. She was bound in place, but the chains could not withstand a blow from his blade. When he had severed them all, he went to scoop her up.

She shook her head, “Not my baby! Not my baby!” Her hands covered her stomach and she curled into a ball. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Thranduil straightened a little.

“We have to leave this place,” he said. “You’re free. We can go home.” He bent down to look in her eyes. “Don’t you know me?”

As he spoke, a large boom echoed from the platform. Yells outside reached the top of the tower. Thranduil looked around at the wooden door. A trail of dust filtered down from the ceiling. She screamed. “No! No! No!” despite the damage to her throat, she made quite the noise.

The door flew inwards, blasted off its hinges by a mighty blow. “I am here for my meal!” purred a sinuous voice.

“There is nothing for you here, vile worm!” Thranduil roared. A pair of golden eyes snapped to him, “Go back from whence you came!”

The great reptilian head thrust further through the door. “If there is nothing prepared for me, then I shall have to snack on the pair of you instead!” The drake sucked in a breath, its throat changing from a dull copper to a vibrant amber. The fact that he had seen it before was the only thing that saved them both. Grabbing hold of his screaming wife, he pushed her onto the floor on the other side of the plinth and dived after her. Liquid fire belched into the room, blackening the walls, heating the stove, and charring everything in the room. Thranduil’s cloak caught light. Hastily patting it out, he risked a glance around the stone slab.

“You missed!”

“Did I? I have been dining on your kin for the past few days, these nasty little creatures are vermin, but they do have their uses.” Thranduil glanced at the pot on the stove, the bones by the wall and felt sick to his stomach. She was the last one; they were going to… He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the grip of his sword.

“When I am done here, I shall make sure your kind is stamped from the face of this land!” he spat.

He glanced at the other door; glad he had kicked it from the hinges as he entered. Grabbing Êlúriel’s arm, he pressed his lips together and drew in a breath. It was now or never, the dragon’s breath had to recharge. He yanked her out from the stone and toward the door. “Run!” he yelled rising and following right behind her. She stood, confused where he had propelled her, so he seized her once more and pulled her along behind him. Another blast of fire hit the doorway as they catapulted down the stairs.

Heat burned Thranduil’s back, but he kept going down the stairs. It was only when he heard a pained whimper that he stopped dragging Êlúriel behind him. Turning around, he realised that they both had not escaped the blast of fire. Her hair was aflame, and although the front of her looked fine, she had taken the full force of the fire on her back. The flesh had melted as though it were wax. Whereas before her face had been pale, now it was ashen. Tears streamed down her face and she toppled over. Thranduil caught her and brought her down to the ground as gently as he could.

“Don’t let them,” she whispered. He tucked a scorched lock of her hair behind her charred ear. “Don’t let them take my baby.”

“Your son is safe, “he said. His eyes stung, his throat closed and try as he might he could not swallow the lump he found was there.

“And the baby?”

“The baby too,” he nodded. Her hand, a mangled ruin of molten flesh, touched his. She grimaced, the pain clear on her face. It slipped down to the pommel of his sword. He swallowed, throat dry.

“End this.”

“Êlúriel!” His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“It hurts so much.” As if to emphasise her point, she moaned as she slipped further against the stairs. Thranduil knew she wouldn’t live with these wounds. Her flesh had melted to the bone, and her mind was a charred ruin. Whatever they had done to her, the damage was irreparable. As if this wasn’t enough, the entire tower shook from a colossal blow.

Weakly, she tried to move the point of his sword. He shook his head; not in denial but to show her he would do this. Another stream of dust fell from the ceiling under the blow. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.” He moved the tip of his sword to the place above her heart. Closing his eyes, he forced away the image of the ruin beneath the blade and recalled one of her. Her tawny hair blowing in the wind. She turned and threw him that coquettish smile over her shoulder. He was chasing her as they ran through the forest, laughing at some secret joke.

Her pained cough brought him back and he opened his eyes again. “Look at me,” he said. She did, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of recognition in her glassy blue eyes. “I will love you for all eternity, I will see you soon my love.”

She shook her head, “I cannot endure this pain again. End it!” she whispered. Tears flowed freely down his face and for a moment, he thought he would be unable to do it. Another cough and he pressed the sword down, piercing her heart and stealing her life for the rest of time. A sob pierced his lips and he leaned over the remains of his beloved wife.

The entire tower shook. He could not linger here, no matter how much he wanted to. He should take her with him, bury her properly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dragged himself to his feet. There was an ominous creak at the next impact. Thranduil looked up in time to see a crack form in the brick. No time. A rush of air, another crash. Leaving her there, he tumbled down the stairs, just as the roof caved in. A fragment of stone smashed where he had been stood moments before. He fell out of the doorway, a gust of dust following him.

The building was engulfed in fire seconds later; he was back on his feet and running, just in time to avoid being melted. Looking around, he saw a handful of his people. “Out!” he yelled. “Run! We cannot fight a dragon with so few of us!” The dragon was not done with the fortress, however. It was now circling the fortress, picking off the few remaining orcs and eating them. Flames licked and danced the entire area. Thranduil knew it was a fight he couldn’t win, but it left a sour taste in his mouth anyway.

He and his people fought their way back out of the fortress, leaving the dragon to devour whatever it could find. By the time it was done with the orcs, they would be long gone.

It was a long ride back to Mirkwood, the only thought on Thranduil’s mind was how to break the news of Êlúriel’s death to Legolas. As distraught as he was, he knew the boy would be inconsolable. Most of the details he would never tell. How could he? How could he tell anyone that he had been the cause of her death? He shouldn’t have been so hasty to throw her out the room; he should have waited. He could have brought her down the stairs, gotten her home and have the healers rebuild her skin. Her mind would have healed, and she’d have come back to him. Most of the time, he let the tears flow unchecked; better to let them out now than allow his son to see how destroyed he truly was. Those who he rode with did as much as they could to ease his mind, but the ache in his chest was so heavy, he knew it would never leave.


End file.
